


Birthday Boy

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: So Much Trouble [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Birthday Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dominance, Fix-It, Frottage, M/M, Not Beta Read, Ok But Now There's Fire, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Rough Oral Sex, Slow Burn, Starker D/s, Submission, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21689545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Read at your own risk.  This?  This is LEGAL-AGE SMUT.  I'm so proud of how we've grown.They're celebrating Peter's birthday, and an end to ALL THE RULES.~~~“Morning, Peter,” Mr. Stark says, with a glint in his eye.“Morning, Mr. Stark, sir,” he responds, automatically.  He’s eighteen.  He’s eighteen.  He tilts his head hopefully, looking at them both indirectly through his eyelashes, because much like an eclipse, they are ruining his vision, and Ms. Potts laughs and pushes Tony forward and says, “Oh, go on, it’s his birthday.  Give him a kiss.”Mr. Stark casually reaches up and brushes some hair off of Peter’s forehead and then says, quietly, “You gonna be okay, kid?”Peter nods.  “C-Could we, though? Please?”Mr. Stark cups Peter’s chin so gently that his senses have to strain to feel the slide of skin on skin, and whispers, “Perfect Peter Parker.”
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: So Much Trouble [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562707
Comments: 36
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read because I posted it before I made friends.
> 
> Triggers aplenty here, let me know if I missed one and I can add more tags and warnings.
> 
> NOT ENDGAME COMPLIANT. (Let's be real here, this AU is barely MCU compliant.)
> 
> Dead Dove Warning finally! Finally! There's Starker D/s that's so explicit! I promise! 
> 
> For prudes, these are fictional characters and I've double checked, no one actually has a skeevy real-life relationship as a result of this series, so, like, relax. No one is going to get hurt. They're not real.

Natasha has Ellen on in the background as she works through her agility drills, Peter three stations behind her doing a similar routine. Ellen says to the starlet of the month, “So, you have a big day coming up this week, hey? The big one eight, how’s it feel?”   
  
“Oh,” gushes the girl, “My mom and dad are planning this small party, but you know, I’m secretly kind of hoping to get the golden ticket to Peter Parker’s party. Spiderman is so dreamy and we have the same birthday.” Peter grunts and rolls his eyes.  _ Dreamy.  _ His feet fly through the tires in the absurd combo that Natasha devised, working with FRIDAY, that actually challenges him to stay alert. FRIDAY has the smallest red dot laser pointer fixed on two tires at a time, and is flickering it wildly around the tires. At one point Peter has to throw a hand out for balance and Natasha  _ tsks _ at him and he rolls his eyes again and huffs out a breath of air, skin starting to sweat with the effort of keeping up with FRIDAY.   
  
“A crush!” shouts Ellen, laughing with delight. “I didn’t know kids still did those! You all seem so put together with your flawless make up and, you know, non-awkward puberties, it’s really unfair.”   
  
The starlet giggles, “I don’t even know that he’s having a party but, I mean, he’s friends with Tony Stark, Ellen, can you imagine it won’t be completely lit? And if it is, I want in. Do you hear me, Peter Parker?” and she holds her hand up to her ear and mouths, “Call me.”   
  
The audience laughs and Ellen segues into a short discussion of the teen’s character in her upcoming coming-of-age superheroine movie. Peter has no idea why Natasha likes this show, but he hopes it has something to do with learning how to mimic American cultural expertise because if it’s a genuine interest in the subject matter, he’s so disappointed. He misses his next flip, falling into a roll on top of the tires, and FRIDAY calls, “My point!” in her smuggest voice, one she definitely self-coded directly from Tony. Natasha claps for her.   


~~~

Over dinner, and it’s Natasha, Bruce, Peter, and Sam tonight, Natasha says, “Peter’s birthday is this weekend. I heard it on Ellen this morning.”   
  
Sam raises his eyebrows and turns to look at Peter. “What? How did these past months just fly by- our baby boy turning into a man?!”   
  
Peter rolls his eyes. He’s probably going to sprain them by midnight, at this rate. “We’ve been a little busy,” he says, reasonably, ignoring the fact that he has a literal countdown app on his phone counting down the minutes.   
  
“Well, shit,” says Sam, “This is not a lot of clearance time to plan a party, kid.”

Peter shakes his head. “You plan a party for me, Doom will show up like a bad fairy.”   
  
Bruce chuckles into his Pad Thai and says, “He’s got a point.”   
  
“Team Breakfast?” asks Natasha.    
  
All four of them look at each other and shrug. “Sure, why not,” agrees Peter.   
  
“Leave it to me,” she says confidently.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning of his birthday, Peter wakes up early and finds a text from Mr. Stark already in his phone:  _ Yes. Yes, already, just get it done before Clint shows up, don’t start your day with that scene.  _   
  
He laughs out loud, and then follows directions, cleaning up and then kind of dozing back to sleep.   
  
Clint, that motherfucker, sends Vision in to get him, which is just never going to be not creepy, dude.   
  
When he gets to the common room, there’s way too many heartbeats and murmurs for it to just be the team, so he pauses and checks to make sure he’s not wearing anything embarrassing. He’s wearing his only Captain America t-shirt, it has a half-shield and under it, patriotic writing that says, “On Your Left,” which is hilarious because there’s all these youtube videos of him shouting it as he passes Sam as they run through Central Park. Literally for a week straight the mash-ups reigned supreme on Tumbler. And his pants are covered in tiny Mjolnir and lighting bolts and winged helmets. They get a lot of free gear, and Peter is definitely a fan.

~~~

He steps into the alcove that separates the Stark Hallway he shares with Mr. Stark and Pepper from central space, and Shuri ambushes him out of nowhere with a shrieked, “Idiot man! I came to find you, FRIDAY helped me! You did not tell me your strange customs, I could have been shouting ‘Idiot boy’ at you this whole time, man! I thought you were a full man for sure, and now I find you people count time and not deeds, which is crazy, idiot man, you are going to have to tell them all to fix that. Anyway, I made you a present and congratulations on being a man!”   
  
Peter accepts her hug because he literally does not see any way out of it. He doesn’t even know where to start with that. She is vibrating within the hug and says, “Ok, so one of these people must be MJ, take me to her, I must hear everything and she will tell me all of the best stories.”   
  
Peter definitely does not want those streams to cross, but he is 90% certain that getting in between them will be physically dangerous to his life, so he peeks his head in the room and says, “Whoa. Shuri, there are a lot of people here.”   
  
Shuri leans in, looking over his shoulder, and says, “Well, idiot man. There were a lot of invitations sent out and no one wanted to miss it, so that makes sense. Which one is MJ?”   
  
Peter scans and then says, “By the TV, with the- she’s wearing the red footie pajamas.” She has one hip cocked and is arguing furiously with Mr. Fantastic, and Peter hopes to God it’s science and not politics because she never descends into personal insults over science. Well, yet.    
  
“Excellent, idiot,” crows Shuri, clapping him on the shoulder. “See you later. Go eat!”

Everyone is lounging around in their pajamas. And everyone is here, in one place. This is  _ absolutely _ unsafe. Who is defending the world right now? He catches a glimpse of the antenna chick and stares in shock. Who is defending the  _ galaxy _ ?!   
  
From behind him, he hears a throat being cleared and he straightens up and whirls around. Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts stand there, arms around each other’s waists, in matching monogrammed flannel pajamas. He closes the door behind him and Ms. Potts says cheerfully, “Happy Breakfast, Peter Parker.”   
  
“H-happy breakfast,” he says back to her, because, as Shuri keeps pointing out, he’s an idiot. In his defense, it is his birthday, his eighteenth birthday, and he is looking at Mr. Stark on his eighteenth birthday.   
  
“Morning, Peter,” Mr. Stark says, with a glint in his eye.   
  
“Morning, Mr. Stark, sir,” he responds, automatically. He’s eighteen. He’s  _ eighteen _ . He tilts his head hopefully, looking at them both indirectly through his eyelashes, because much like an eclipse, they are ruining his vision, and Ms. Potts laughs and pushes Tony forward and says, “Oh, go on, it’s his  _ birthday _ . Give him a kiss.”   
  
Mr. Stark casually reaches up and brushes some hair off of Peter’s forehead and then says, quietly, “You gonna be okay, kid?”   
  
Peter nods. “C-Could we, though? Please?”   
  
Mr. Stark cups Peter’s chin so gently that his senses have to strain to feel the slide of skin on skin, and whispers, “Perfect Peter Parker.” He rubs a kiss so soft Peter can barely feel it brush against his lips, and then his tongue darts out and Mr. Stark snaps forward hungrily. Peter has no idea how long they stand there, wrapped up in each other in the best way- it seems like forever and not nearly long enough- but when they part, Ms. Potts gives him an indulgent smirk and says, “Happy birthday, Peter,” and laughs when he says, “You-you too, Ms. Potts,” before his brain actually comes back online. In his defense, Mr. Stark is still cupping his chin.   
  
“Well,” drawls Mr. Stark in Peter’s favorite tone of irony, “that was pleasant. Let’s do it again sometime soon, but  _ in the meantime _ , you have a birthday breakfast to get to. Go say hi to all the nice people here to celebrate you  _ becoming a man _ .”   
  
Peter winces- they overheard that, did they? Of course they did- and says, “I have no idea who explained this eighteenth birthday thing to her but I am killing them as my first act of supervillany.”   
  
Ms. Potts is laughing. “We’ll go in first,” she assures him. “You… you take a second, get yourself… back together again.”   
  
Mr. Stark smirks at him, and pats his butt as he releases him to walk by, holding out his arm for Ms. Potts again. “Cute jammies,” he calls over his shoulder, “but you’d look better with the arc reactor ones!”   
  
Peter props himself against the wall and thinks very carefully about how much he hates the smell of burnt toast. He asks FRIDAY, “FRIDAY, am I, like, do I look normal again?” and she doesn’t pretend not to understand and says, “Peter, you look normal, and great. Go get ‘em!”


	3. Chapter 3

The common area, which is no small space, is stuffed with people. When Peter walks in, several people shout, “Surprise!” and it is a surprise how many people have shown up.  _ In their pajamas _ . Peter is surprised that he even knows this many people.   
  
Thor is holding court in one corner of the room to the Asguardian and Guardian contingent, all the aliens looking slightly uncomfortable in their various nightwear, except for the other Peter, who is rocking a pair of He-Man underoos.    
  
Half of SHIELD has turned up, most in black silk SHIELD-issue kimono pajamas but Director Fury is pretty much the only fully-clothed person at this party and he looks so lost and out of place as Clint ribs him about something. Hopefully his lack of appropriate party attire. Live a little, man.   
  
Someone in the kitchen starts singing “Happy Birthday,” and then Aunt May walks out with the biggest plate- it’s a platter, really- of pancakes, stacked high, with 18 candles lit and flaming on top. Peter is more of an eggs and bacon kinda guy in the morning, but what the hell, they’ve put so much effort in… The whole room bursts into loud and raucous noise, laughter, and teasing as he blows out the candles in one breath and cuts into the pancake-cake at the end of the song.   
  
“Happy Birthday, kiddo,” whispers Aunt May in their hug, wrapping him tight after he takes the first bite.   
  
“Thank you, May,” he mutters back, fork still in his mouth.    
  
“We’ll do something this Sunday, just for us. Your friends wanted to go all out. Spaghetti at Yanni’s?” He nods and then Ned is poking him in the arm with a fork and saying, “PETER. SHARE.  _ GOD _ ,” holding up an empty plate.    
  
He loses track of time, trying to carve out time to chat with everyone there. Someone is always shoving a plate or glass of something into his hands, and if he were a normal guy, this would be too much, but Steve and Bucky and Thor and him defeated a Chinese buffet one time. It’s hours later, when Natasha approaches with someone Peter only vaguely recognizes in tow.   
  
“Peter, this is Callie. Callie, Peter Parker.”   
  
Peter smiles, his friendly neighborhood stuffed full of food Spiderman smile, and the girl blushes and says, “Ohmigod, so nice to meet you,” and Peter realizes where he knows her from and laughs, “Oh, did- did someone track you down? Oh, God, do you live around here? This isn’t ruining your birthday plans, is it?”   
  
Callie shakes her head no, and says, “Are you kidding me? I had to sign a NDA and it’s gonna kill me not to be able to tell everyone about Thor in a union suit but honestly, Mr. Parker, I was joking on-on Ellen, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”   
  
“An NDA?” interrupts Mr. Stark, wandering over from a nearby conversation. “Oh, we can _ not _ have that kind of censorship hindering the star power of the newest up-and-comers. Here, squeeze in, I am tweeting this, they can pry this off my instagram, you got that FRIDAY?”   
  
So that’s how a photo of him and Callie in their pajamas, with the King of Wakanda, two X-Men, and Wanda in the background, also in their various pajamas, hits the front page of the Society section with the heading, “Happy Birthday, Heroes!” before the party even ends.   
  
Doom does not show up, and neither does the world explode. Everyone is right here, after all, and doing, well, nothing very important. Peter guesses it’s actually the worst time to attack. Their full team muster would take like thirty seconds, and they’d have  _ backup _ . 

Ramonda approaches him in a lull, when he’s standing still and just watching so many people, all gathered here, for him. “Now I see you, a warrior of pride, among his tribe,” she says, satisfied, and she pats his cheek. “I have seen this day the joy in your eyes, you know, and it tempers the burdens you must carry.” Peter doesn’t know what to say to this, but he absolutely does not feel like apologizing, so he takes her hand and kisses it, like he’s seen men do in movies. She smiles at him and says, “Dear man, I feel it, too. I will take Shuri home with me, aye, before she can demand to play in your labs and wreck them, and the Panther who hisses at your Captain, before they can begin to swat each other, but first I will have them come to you to say goodbye. Do not forget that I have chosen you as one of my own, and walk with that knowledge into your next year.”   
  
He can’t think of anything to say so he just smiles at her, and she wraps her arms around him and says, “You are such a good man.” And it means one thing to have Aunt May say it, and another thing entirely to have Ramonda say it.   


~~~

It’s well past noon before the party starts to fizzle out, and pretty soon it’s just a few stragglers and the live-in Avengers scattered around the common area, overstuffed and coming down hard from a sugar high.    
  
Bucky is braced next to Cap in their habitual way, shoulders bumped together, but his head is tipped back on the couch as he says, “Okay. The future is maybe, sometimes, a little awesome.”   
  
Cap gets a smile, the kind he only gets when Bucky is involved, small and private and really really cute. MJ makes crazy eyes at Peter from her spot opposite them, on the loveseat, and he rolls his. Yes, he’s aware, they’re adorable and they should totally just  _ go for it _ already, but he’s not going to be the one to tell either of them that. Cap says, “You just like that there’s so many different kinds of pancakes now.”   
  
“And ice cream,” Bucky agrees.   
  
“Well, Peter,” says Thor. “I am very pleased you are a man, now, this was a feast worthy of the Halls of my father. Have you opened all your gifts and found them useful?”   
  
Peter rubs a hand across his mouth. He’s stopped arguing with people about the manhood thing, Shuri- well, the whole Wakandan and Asguardian contingents combined, really- having made it pretty clear that no matter who tries to explain it, they like their definition better. “I mean, most of them- not- not really? Shuri gave me a mask, it’s pretty cool, but it’s decorative, to hang on my door to announce my ferocity and prowess in battle. And Peter- the space one- he gave me a copy of a mixed tape with a bunch of songs, it was pretty cool, I guess. MJ and Ned gave me, well, it was a joke, but like a first aid kit fanny pack.” Ned shakes his head, shooting an amused look to MJ which Peter ignores. It’s  _ like _ a first aid fanny pack. It’s  _ like one. _ “And Mr. Fantastic gave me something I thought was like a sonic screwdriver but was just a toothbrush he’s really excited about. So, nothing really useful, I guess, but I like them all.” He shrugs.    
  
“It is the intent,” agrees Thor, fiddling with the pocket on his t-shirt, which has a tiny spiderman dangling from it.   
  
Peter is sitting there, when he realizes something. “Oh my God. Are you all- are you all wearing Spiderman pajamas?”   
  
“Happy birthday,” laughs Clint, pulling the cowl that was hanging down his back over his eyes. “Don’t say we never did anything for you. Goddamn, I lost the bet, though, who had 1 PM?” He thought Clint was wearing that damn licensed merch just to be  _ funny _ .   
  
Natasha smiles and wiggles her fingers at him, in her webbed footless onesie, and Peter thought it was a  _ Halloween _ footie, he honestly did.    
  
“Fucking of course,” says Clint.   
  
Everyone else, full with sugary sweets and hearty breakfast fare, waves at Peter from wherever they are flopped. Everyone is in red or blue or black, and he can see the flannel pajamas on Pepper’s back are also licensed merch because they have his facemask embroidered on the back near the neckline, and he realizes the abstract design is like really subtle webs, how did he not see that? This is the single weirdest display of support and camaraderie he has ever been introduced to, and he’s already kind of hoping it happens next year, too.   
  
“Is it really 1 already?” Ned asks MJ. MJ makes a face and says, “Yeah.”   
  
“Ahhh, Pete, man, I gotta get- they’re doing a big dinner thing, I’m leaving for college today- tonight, really,” says Ned, tripping his way closer. There’s pillows and blankets, piles of trash everywhere. “Thank you for, for inviting us-”   
  
“God, thank you for remembering us in general, you complete spazz,” interrupts MJ, standing to give him a hug. “Happy birthday, my favorite Avenger.”    
  
“Thanks,” he says. She leans in and whispers, “And good luck,  _ eighteen _ .”    
  
“Wait,” says Steve, raising his head. “I thought I was your favorite Avenger?”   
  
MJ purses her lips and tilts her head. “Honestly it’s a minute-by-minute toss up. Keep making good choices.”   
  
Steve nods his head and Bucky snorts. “He makes absolutely ridiculous choices, have you  _ met _ him?”   
  
MJ nods and returns, “You keep him from divebombing, you hear me? Neither one of them has any common sense, but I’ve got Peter on a short text leash. You should text-train yours, call me.”   
  
Bucky nods and they high-five as she rejoins Ned in the center of the room. Steve looks at Bucky like he has two heads and Bucky ignores him.   
  
Ned and MJ stand a moment and then Ned looks around and says, “Okay, so, how do we get back to the jet?”

Clint rolls his eyes and stands and says, “C’mon, kids, I’ll play tourguide. I gotta jet, too, I’m  _ retired  _ and all this activity is really biting into my time spent enjoying that fact. Good breakfast, Peter, see you at the next one?”   
  
Peter nods, pouring himself another glass of OJ. “See ya, Clint.”   
  
Natasha peels herself off the couch to pad after MJ, Ned, and Clint. 

Thor smiles and says, “Now seems as good a time as any to head back and see what has befallen my people in my absence,” and he’s gone in a flash, which doesn’t surprise Peter, he usually gets called back to the Asguard colony within hours of a “cultural exchange.”

Bruce and Tony look at each other and then look at Peter and they all say at once, “The lab?” which makes the rest of the room sigh and wave them away.   
  
“I want to watch a movie,” announces Wanda, “and eat popcorn. Pepper, can you pick?”   
  
“Where are we with your education, Steve,” she asks, as Bruce and Tony and Peter amble their way to the elevator, “Have you seen the Craft yet? Major female empowerment movie. We can do a two-fer with Practical Magic!”


	4. Chapter 4

FRIDAY interrupts them with a gentle chime and says, “Gentleman, it is almost dinner and everyone is insistent that you change your clothes and attend.”   
  
Tony looks down at his pajamas and then over at Bruce in his sweatpants (the AMAZING Spiderman scrawled up one leg) and t-shirt, and then states, “I don’t see what’s wrong with what we’re wearing. Tell Pepper no, we’re very busy doing secret sciencebro stuff.”   
  
“Steve said if you protested to tell you that he, Sam, Vision and Bucky have spent the afternoon cleaning the suite while the women watched female empowerment flicks and he’s willing to call that Peter’s birthday present but he’s also willing to hold it over your heads for a week.”

Peter looks up from the filaments he’s processing and says, “Uh. Okay. I can put on actual pants.” He lays down his micromagnet tool, figures that’s actually all the straightening his station needs today, and takes off his goggles. Bruce is likewise cleaning up his station, but Tony is standing by his, and it looks from the set of his shoulders that he’s- sulking?   
  
“C’mon, Mr. Stark,” tries Peter, “I haven’t eaten for hours, I’m starving, and I’m guessing it’s gonna be good.”   
  
“Mm,” grunts Tony, futzing with an equation in front of him.    
  
Peter has no grip on this mood, it came out of nowhere, and Bruce raises his eyebrows at him. Peter shrugs and waves him away, he’s got the best success rate, after all. Bruce hesitates but then nods and leaves the lab.   
  
“Mr. Stark,” starts Peter, when the door closes. FRIDAY opaques the glass, which is weird but not, well, she does stuff like that sometimes.   
  
Mr. Stark grunt again, circling an entire section of the formulas scrawled all over his screen and tossing it off the screen to a glowing, see-through post it note nearby.   
  
Peter knows all the rules, can recite them by the flavor they leave in his mouth, but today is his  _ birthday _ . So, daring, he reaches out and slides a hand around Mr. Stark’s torso, resting his chin on Mr. Stark’s hunched shoulders. “Mr. Stark,” he coaxes, quietly, in Tony’s ear, as he rubs Tony’s stomach muscles with his hand. Tony tenses in his arms and says, “This is obscene bribery,” as he jabs at a variable and makes the curve twist into a new angle.   
  
“No, that part comes after dessert,” Peter says, off the cuff. “This is coaxing. Come put on some tight pants for my birthday. I’ll wear a pair, too.”   
  
Mr. Stark twitches, so he knows he’s on the right route. 

“You can pick out my shirt, and I’ll wear it.” It’s a weakness he’s suspected.   
  
“Any shirt?” asks Mr. Stark, his stylus stilling in its latest equation.   
  
Peter is probably going to regret this, but he says, “Yeah. Any shirt. Your choice.”   
  
Mr. Stark drops the stylus to the workbench, blanks the screens, and whirls in Peter’s arm, asking, “Are you sure it’s your birthday and not mine?”   
  
Peter grins up at him and says, “I’m willing to share.” It’s so nice, to be able to stand so close, to know the waiting is over and done. Even if- even if Mr. Stark doesn’t- doesn’t want to do everything, it’s so nice not to feel like he’s got to watch his own every move.   
  
Mr. Stark is watching him and says, “Well, I am a monster, but I’m not- I can wait a few more hours. I can do dinner.”   
  
Peter considers this information and says, “I mean, the lab  _ is _ on lock-down.”   
  
“Gonna stop you right there,” interrupts FRIDAY. “Dinner.”   
  
Both men blow out a breath. Peter’s fairly certain nothing would have happened anyway, but it’s still annoying to be cockblocked by an AI. He and Mr. Stark share a grin, and Mr. Stark says, “Okay. Dinner. Let’s go take a look at my closet.”   
  
They have to travel through the common areas to get to the Stark Suites, but they avoid the kitchen where most of the bustle is happening. Mr. Stark holds open the door to their hallway and there’s a strange look in his eyes as Peter passes by him, so when the door is closed behind them Peter asks, “What? What are you thinking, Mr. Stark?”   
  
“Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly,” replies Mr. Stark immediately.   
  
“Wait, am I the fly in this metaphor?” asks Peter, standing outside their suite and waiting.   
  
Mr. Stark chuckles, palming open the door, and says, “Definitely. And the lamb, all sweet and innocent, just waiting to be bitten.”   
  
“I mean, not so innocent,” protests Peter, flushing.   
  
“No,” agrees Mr. Stark. “But definitely waiting for me to take a bite.” He raises an eyebrow and Peter’s face is going to burst into flame. Mr. Stark chuckles and opens a wall panel to reveal a walk in closet. He digs through the shirts, muttering, then pulls one out. “Here, this one,” he says, throwing it at Peter and casually stripping out of his own. He tosses on a deep blue button down that does amazing things to his eyes, and then shucks his pajama bottoms for a pair of black dress pants that hug every- Peter realizes he’s staring, his mouth gone dry, the shirt clutched in his hands. Mr. Stark finishes buttoning and zipping and smiles at him, smug and secure, clearly aware that Peter is frozen, star struck. 

“Tony?” calls Pepper from the outer room of their suite, “Are you changing?”   
  
“Yeah,” responds Mr. Stark, shooing Peter out of the closet and closing it behind them.    
  
“How’d he get you- oh, hi, Peter,” she says with a bright smile. She takes in the shirt gripped in Peter’s hands and says, “Oh, I know how he got you out, smart spider. It’s a good choice, it’s going to do great things to your eyes,” she tells him. “Wear with confidence, Pepper approved.”   
  
“Y-yeah,” says Peter.   
  
“Okay, out, go, tight jeans, I was promised,” says Mr. Stark. “He’s sharing his birthday,” he tells Pepper in a tone of secret confidence.   
  
Her smile broadens and she says, “Make sure they’re really tight so we can all enjoy it, then, Peter. The ones with the frayed cuffs, by request.” Those jeans are so old they’re starting to wear at the seams, he’d gotten them pre-serum, so the cuffs had dragged on the ground and they’d been a notch too big, and abruptly they were the only pair that fit post-serum. They were the softest- May had finally figured out that none of the others fit after a few weeks, and bought more, but he’d worn those jeans  _ in _ . He only wears them now on days when he needs something comfy, lab-all-day-days, post-mission-days, Team Breakfast day. He hadn’t realized anyone was  _ watching _ .

“Do you- do you like, you know my clothes?” asks Peter plaintively.   
  
“Clothes make the man,” Pepper assures him. “But I’ve got my favorites for everyone. Go change.” She makes a shooing gesture and turns to straighten Mr. Stark’s collar, and he slides a muscled arm around her and dips his head to kiss her.

He nods and lets himself out of their suite, padding down the hallways to his door. He steps inside and there, on his bed, is the fanny pack from earlier. He stares at it and then digs out his phone and texts MJ and Ned.  _ OMG. U r the worst. Fanny pack?! _

The response is immediate,  _ Think u misspelled best there, P - N _

_ I know what I said - P _

_ All the blood is leaking out ur brain 2 ur dick, tho, easy mistake -MJ _

_ What she said- N _

_ Be prepared! Fanny pack of fun!- MJ _

_ We’re helping - N _

_ It’s not like that- P _ _   
_ _   
_ _ But it could be, now, ur legal n everything, ne1 of them, all hawt -N _

_ Hope springs eternal - MJ _ _   
_ _   
_ _ And, bonus ++, the supplies work even w/o partner. Still wtg on 1 of u to science that upper limit 4 me -N _

_ Stretch first- MJ _

_ I love u but stahp - P _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Love u 2 - N _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Love u 2 - MJ _

_ Worst present ever -P _ _   
_ _   
_ _ *Best - MJ _

He drops the phone onto its charger and steps over to the closet section of the wall, and says, “FRIDAY? Which drawer for the pants Ms. Potts said-”   
  
A drawer two down slides open silently and he says, “Thanks!”   
  
“Peter Parker?” asks FRIDAY, and her voice is tentative.   
  
“Uh, yes, FRIDAY?” he says, dropping his pajama pants and sliding into the jeans.

“Can I - will you allow me to give you advice regarding your hair? For Mr. Stark’s birthday present?”   
  
Peter is half-way out of his shirt and rips it the rest of the way and spits out, “Uh, yeah, absolutely, FRIDAY.” He has a super spy in the walls who is  _ on his side,  _ his life is so excellent.

“Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark have both expressed affection for it when it is very disorganized. If you go stand in the shower, I can blast it and we can make it mimic their favorite looks.”   
  
This. Is. Excellent.   
  
“No socks or shoes, Peter Parker,” she also suggests, as he scans the other wardrobe sections of the wall. “Trust me on this one.”

He’s never felt the need to ask before but- “So, FRIDAY,” he says, and he knows his tone is falsely casual, “you’re, like, cool, with Mr. Stark and I? And like, Ms. Potts being so- it’s okay with you, too?” She’s an AI, her brain is plugged into the internet, this is hardly the weirdest thing she’s ever wasted processing power on, but still, it’s different when it’s your programmer, Peter bets.

“Mr. Stark operates at peak personal performance when you are nearby, whether in the lab or in combat situations. He sleeps better when you are in the same building, and he is aware that you are also sleeping. Since you have begun engaging in your power exchange, his overall tension levels have decreased. I suspect that such behaviors are an outlet for his need to-”   
  
“Thanks FRIDAY,” interrupts Peter, stepping into the shower and blushing furiously, his ears ringing. “You don’t have to justify it, you just, it’s good to know you approve.”   
  
“I approve. I would like to encourage, and support.” She whistles the blow jets in the shower at his head and says, “Yes, like this. Now you can run your fingers through it whenever and it will not straighten.”   
  
He says, “Thanks,” and pulls on the shirt that Mr. Stark tossed him. It’s a light brown, kind of golden in a way. It’s very soft to the touch.   
  
“Another suggestion?” she asks brightly. He nods, he’ll take all the help he can get. “Leave the top two buttons open.”   
  
He looks at himself in the mirror and thinks, God, he looks so  _ vulnerable _ . There is nothing tough about this look, nothing sleek or polished like Mr. Stark.  _ I mean, it looks good _ , it’s an adult look, more than his usual t-shirt combo is, but, it’s not- well. The contrast is going to be startling. He’s a sheep, a fly, in these clothes. “The clothes make the man,” he mutters, backing away from the mirror.   
  
“Ms. Potts sleeps better when Mr. Stark sleeps better,” says FRIDAY softly, as he sits down on the bed and checks the time- 6:33- on his phone. “She has not expressed that she would like to kill him for the last two weeks, even while joking. I believe that she is  _ very happy _ to have assistance managing Mr. Stark’s mercurial moods and high levels of effort in regard to personal input and attention.”    
  
Peter nods, thinking about that, and then asks, “And you? Are things, are things easier  _ for you _ with me around?”   
  
“Mr. Stark remembers to wear his safety goggles when Dr. Banner is in the lab,” she says. “Mr. Stark strives to keep the lab and workshop  _ safe _ when you are present. I have noticed more ability to concentrate on my own upgrades, subroutines, and interests in the past few months. I am pleased, and would like to see this pattern continue. The power exchange between you, and its effect on you, is fascinating to watch.”   
  
Peter shivers. “I forgot you see everything.”

“It’s safer that way,” she offers, and she sounds hesitant. “Do you- do you not like it?”

“Anybody but you, I’d be horrified,” he tells her. “But I trust you.”   
  
“Thank you, Peter Parker,” she says, and there is something in her tone that is amused, and something else that sounds awed. “Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark are getting ready to leave their suite, if you were hoping for a moment to have a private first-look with Mr. Stark to approve your preparations, now is that time.”   
  
He nods and says, “Thanks, FRIDAY,” again.   
  
“You’re very welcome, Peter Parker,” she responds, and there’s nothing in her tone except amusement.


	5. Chapter 5

He steps out into the hallway, bare feet reporting the change in carpet, and his spidersense amps up a notch as Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts step out of their room, too.    
  
Ms. Pott’s jaw drops slightly, looking him up and down across the distance, and she murmurs, quietly, for his ears only despite her nearness to Mr. Stark, “Well. Done,” in a very approving tone.   
  
Mr. Stark makes an eye-catching display, himself, his deep blue shirt tucked into tight black dress pants, belted, with shiny shoes that Peter is certain cost a month of May’s paychecks, at least. He’s wearing one of his fancy watches, thick and expensive looking on his wrist, and the shirt has cuff links that wink at Peter as he closes the door behind them.

Peter knows the moment Mr. Stark catches sight of him, because he twitches like he can’t help that reaction, and then stills like he’s stuffing all future reactions down and away somewhere. Peter stands still, casually turned toward them both, and lets his hand relax from where it had pulled the door shut, and drop to his side.   
  
Mr. Stark, well,  _ stalks _ , towards him, and Peter rubs his neck self-consciously, ducking his head, because that dark gaze is very penetrating as it gets closer. Mr. Stark stops just one step too close and reaches up to knock aside Peter’s hand and fix Peter’s collar. He knows it doesn’t need fixing, FRIDAY said it was fine, and so his heart starts hammering in his chest. “Little big, yet,” says Mr. Stark in an undertone, twisting the collar this way and that, making the shirt slide across Peter’s shoulders, leaving small ripples of sensation from the soft fabric in his wake. Peter stares up at him, speechless, lips parted to breathe. Mr. Stark smooths down his collar, fingers flattening on Peter’s shoulders as he brushes the excess fabric tight to Peter’s collar bone and chest. “Little too big, yet,” he repeats himself in that same tone.   
  
Peter stammers, “Y-you picked it, Mr. Stark, I can- I can p-put another one-”   
  
“No,” interrupts Mr. Stark. Just that, just “no,” no further words. His eyes are blazing and it feels like they are cutting into Peter’s.   
  
“Tony,” murmurs Ms. Potts, “You have to kiss him. Or I will,  _ look _ at him.”   
  
Mr. Stark makes a wounded noise of agreement and says, “Just one. Just one, and then dinner.”   
  
Peter nods, quickly, and somehow is still taken by surprise when Mr. Stark leans forward and presses his lips to Peter’s hungrily. His hands fly up of their own accord, to hold onto Mr. Stark’s biceps, and Mr. Stark is doing that thing where he holds Peter’s face in his hands for the kiss, his fingertips resting in Peter’s hair but not pulling it. They kiss for more than a moment, long enough for Peter to feel breathless and needy, and then Mr. Stark pulls back and declares, “He’s sharing his birthday, I get one, too, then dinner,” and kisses him again to Ms. Pott’s amused snort in the background.   
  
“I mean, one for me, too,  _ look _ at him,” says Ms. Potts. Mr. Stark grunts in agreement and there, what Peter had been hoping for- his hands slide back and grab Peter’s hair, he never stops kissing but he does tug a little, just a little pull, and Peter going to drown from lack of oxygen on dry land and he doesn’t care. It’s a good death.   
  
Eventually, Mr. Stark pulls him back by his hair, gulps for air, and says, “Okay, stop, or I’ll never- I won’t stop, and I dressed up for this dinner.”   
  
“Mr. Rogers has requested that I warn you that dinner will be served shortly and if you are not there to help him pick wines, they will be poured and you’ll be stuck with whatever looked good to him at the time,” FRIDAY says, in an apologetic tone.   
  
“He doesn’t even have to fix his hair,” comments Ms. Potts in an amused tone. “It looks like it did before you manhandled him, good  _ choice _ , Peter.”   
  
Peter nods, trying to scramble brain cells and get the blood back up to his head where it belongs.   
  
“Take a moment, kid,” says Mr. Stark, eyeing him. “You look-”   
  
“Ravished,” suggests Ms. Potts smugly.    
  
“...Yeah,” says Mr. Stark, and he pats Peter’s chest, and lifts Peter’s hand and kisses it, before doing the same thing to Ms. Potts. “You are both going to be the death of me.”   
  
“Fun death,” shoots back Ms. Potts.    
  
“...the best one,” Mr. Stark reassures her.   
  
“Go pick wines for Steve,” she instructs him. “You know he means the 2018.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah,” says Mr. Stark, and he turns with his usual bound of energy and heads through the hallway door.   
  
“You are so good for him,” comments Ms. Potts, tilting her head and running a cautious hand through the back of his hair to flatten it a bit and erase all trace. “Steve coming back is good for him, he loves having someone to fight with, Bruce is good for him, someone that lets him act like an annoying little brother, but I think you are the single best addition he has ever made to his life.”   
  
Peter is still shaken from the kissing so he definitely cannot conjure up the right words to say. She kisses his cheek and says, “I don’t want you to think I’m having emotions, or anything, they need me in New York the next few days, signatures and things. It’s awful timing, I would like to be here to help you stay on solid footing as the rules no longer apply. Tony needs nagging sometimes, to talk about things. But I trust you to be you, perfect Peter Parker, and so I trust that you will not let him explode this very good thing you have been building.”   
  
Peter nods and she says, “Good. Then I’m going to go, after dinner, but please update me. I can spy through FRIDAY but I think I’d prefer a more personal touch with this one.”   
  
Peter nods frantically, “Yes, Ms. Potts, I’ll- I’ll let you know. How it goes- How everything- I’ll let you know.”   
  
She smiles at him and says, “Good.” She tilts her head and Peter holds his breath, waiting for more. “The shirt was an excellent choice, but the bare feet are going to kill him,” she says, and turns to walk through the door to the common room. “Take a sec,” she hisses at him with a grin.   
  
“Told you,” says FRIDAY smugly.

~~~  
  


Dinner turns out to not be that big of a deal, everyone is kinda dressy but not too dressy, and there’s not many of them left there. Bucky and Stever continue to be adorable and frustrating to watch at the same time, how in the world have they not just gone for it, yet? Peter blames Bucky. He misses Natasha, who would have taken in his outfit and his expression and known at a glance the entire story of his hopes for the night and said something awkward and comforting, he’s sure of it, but Cap says she went with Clint.    
  
Pepper and Tony drink wine with Bruce and Cap and Bucky, and Peter could have a glass, but he thinks he knows how much it gets to Mr. Stark that he doesn’t, that he stands out by  _ not _ . Wanda and Vision are practically curled up into each other, at one point they actually are feeding each other, it would be gross if you didn’t know how close they came and how hard they’ve worked with Dr. Strange in the past few months to ensure this is the reality they all live in. This is just a short hiatus before diving back into the work, and Peter doesn’t begrudge them anything.

Dinner is over fast, and Peter only catches Mr. Stark staring at him twice, and catches himself staring once, but, other than Bruce, who he is pretty sure already knows, and Pepper, who finds it amusing, everyone else is too busy with their own yearning love lives to notice theirs. Again, Peter misses Natasha, who would have made fun of him in impossibly subtle ways, and tweaked Mr. Stark, too.

Mr. Stark claims paperwork, and quits the room with a bottle of wine and Pepper under one arm, after one last “Happy Birthday, Peter.” Peter can feel his heart start to race, because even though, even though they never said, they never- Mr. Stark had cleared his calendar for tonight. That means something, right? Of course it does. Peter's eighteen. That means something. He eyes the door to the Stark Hallway and tries to calculate how quickly he can slip after them to, you know, _just ask._


	6. Chapter 6

Wanda and Vision begin cleaning up, Peter rising to help them, only to be kicked out of the kitchen by Bruce, Cap, and Buck, who tell Peter to go “do something festive somewhere else” and tell Wanda and Vision to “Grab a bottle and go cuddle somewhere.” There’s another chorus of “Happy Birthday, Peter” and then he’s staring at the door to the Stark Suites hallway. He takes a breath, and opens it, and finds on the other side that the door to Mr. Stark and Ms. Pott’s room is propped open. He hears Ms. Potts call, “Peter? That you? Down here!”   
  
In their sitting area, all black leather couches with red and gold throw pillows, there’s three wine glasses on a tray and Peter scoffs a laugh, “Oh my God.”

“Yes, seriously,” teases Ms. Potts, coming into the room wearing what Peter thinks of as her travel suit, a simple elegant drape of tunic over palazzo pants and flats. “I thought we could celebrate an end to a successful negotiation. No ceremony, but I think you deserve a treat for being so good, and as your legally appointed guardian, thanks Aunt May, I have every right to serve it to you.”   
  
Mr. Stark enters, still dressed to kill, and Peter’s mouth is dry. He sits, heavily, on the edge of the couch, and accepts the glass that Pepper hands him.    
  
Mr. Stark accepts one, too, and sits beside Pepper, giving her a sweet kiss before taking his first sip. “Toast?” he offers her.   
  
“To my men,” she says and while it makes Peter blush, he raises the glass to his lips, anyway. He’ll toast to that, it warms him that she thinks of him that way, as one of hers. As he sips, she continues, archly, “Keep the bed warm for me.”   
  
Peter and Mr. Stark both choke, simultaneously, and she laughs. “You are so much fun, Peter. Thank you. I have to go,” and she drains her glass with a sigh at the end. “Be good, both of you. I’ll see you Sunday.”   
  
“We’ll come to you if you can’t come to us,” promises Mr. Stark. “Barring von Doom or Chitauri.”   
  
“Bite your tongue,” she scolds, kissing him. “I’ll hold you to that. Peter, regular updates.” He nods, and then she’s grabbing a small bag and heading out the door.   
  
Silence descends on the room.

After a long moment, where Peter cannot make himself look at Mr. Stark, he takes a nervous sip of his wine. It seems to stir Mr. Stark, because he says, “Come here, Peter Parker,” and pats the couch beside him. Peter tries to be suave about standing and walking, but his timing is off and he almost trips and then he just gets there through the safest possible straight line. He perches on the edge, until Mr. Stark wraps an arm around him and pulls him back to lean against his chest, nuzzling his hair. “Are these nerves, Peter Parker?” he asks in a teasing tone of voice.   
  
Peter thinks of Kevin, telling him to give accurate information and only accurate information and stammers, “Y-yeah, Mr. S-stark. I don’t- I don’t know-”   
  
“I’ll tell you what you need to know,” Mr. Stark assures him, in a slow, soothing tone that is new to Peter. “You don’t have to worry about knowing anything, that’s the whole point. You just have to worry about pleasing me. And you do please me, just the way you are, perfect Peter Parker.”   
  
Peter feels himself relax a little more with each slow sentence. Mr. Stark makes it so easy, so easy to be himself, to do this- this stuff- with him. By the time he gets the compliment at the end, he’s tipping his head back onto Mr. Stark’s shoulder with a sigh. He takes another sip of wine and Mr. Stark shifts and says, “Here. Let me- I’ve wanted to- here,” and he lifts the glass from Peter’s grip and shifts so that he’s propped up on one elbow on the couch back, facing Peter, one leg off the couch and the other tucked between them, his shin along Peter’s thigh. He lays his arm behind Peter’s head and says, “Just one, but, let me,” and he tilts the glass to Peter’s lips. Peter looks into his eyes, dark and serious and full of thoughts Peter can only dimly guess at, and sips. It’s smooth, and it tastes different even though it’s the same vintage, the same glass, as seconds before. Peter’s eyes flutter closed, letting the wine spill over his tongue. “Yeah,” breathes Mr. Stark, “I thought- I thought you’d. Perfect, Peter. You’re so responsive for me.”   
  
Peter blushes and opens his eyes to catch Mr. Stark staring at his mouth. He raises a hand to scrub at it, embarrassed, and Mr. Stark makes a noise of disapproval and says, “No, I like it, Peter, and I get to have the things I like. Color?”   
  
“Green,” says Peter, surprised. Are they- did they start?   
  
“Good. Another one,” and he holds the glass up to Peter’s lips. Peter tries to re-capture that feeling of relaxation, and it’s right there, right on the other side of something in his head, but he can’t get into it until Mr. Stark says, “Stop. Thinking,” in a very firm tone. “If I want to feed you grapes, one by one, just to watch you enjoy them, one by one, then that’s what I want, and I get to have the things I want. You do want to give me what I want, don’t you?”   
  
Peter gasps, “Yes, Mr. Stark,” because put like that, sure, okay, he can do anything.   
  
“So try again,” says Mr. Stark, firmly. “Give me what I want, again.”   
  
Peter leans his head back until he can feel Mr. Stark’s arm behind him, supporting his head. He closes his eyes and waits, for whatever Mr. Stark wants, his lips slightly slack for the wineglass in invitation. “Good boy,” whispers Mr. Stark, and Peter can feel his dick twitch to life. The wine glass kisses his lips and he opens, and there’s a small flood of wine, and it tastes amazing again. He hasn’t had a lot of experience with wine, but Aunt May has been letting him sneak sips for years, and this one is sweet and kind of fruity. It makes him smile, how smooth and friendly it is. Not at all what he would expect wine snobs to enjoy. He swallows, and there’s a heartbeat, and then the glass is raised to his lips again, and he opens for more sunshine sweet wine.   
  
It’s like Mr. Stark has made a bubble of time here, in the living room, and Peter doesn’t know how long they sit there, until both glasses are gone and Mr. Stark says, “There. That wasn’t hard, was it?”   
  
Peter opens his eyes to look up at Mr. Stark and whispers, “No.” He pauses for a second and then breathes, “Sir.”   
  
“Sometimes I’ll just want to spoil you,” Mr. Stark tells him, his dark gaze, usually so playful, gone serious and solemn. “You’re going to let me.”   
  
It’s not a question but Peter says, “Okay. Yes, sir, Mr. Stark,” mesmerized by the glitter in Mr. Stark’s eyes from this close distance. With a feeling of daring and also inevitability, he lifts his head the few inches and presses a kiss to Mr. Stark’s lips. Daring even more when Mr. Stark doesn’t respond by flailing or pushing him back, Peter darts a taste with his tongue. Mr. Stark tastes sweet, like the wine. He pulls back a bare half-inch and whispers, “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” against the man’s lips.

Mr. Stark clears his throat and says, “Want to try something I bet you never have before?” and leans back to toss back a mouthful of wine, and then surges forward to kiss Peter. The wine trickles into his mouth and Mr. Stark is right, he’s never even heard of this before, but it’s fun and something about it, the slide of their tongues, the sweetness of the vintage, the way Mr. Stark takes command of the kiss, turns Peter on up past 10 on the dial, and he moans a little.   
  
After a minute, the wine has disappeared, and it’s just them, kissing, deep and wet, Mr. Stark with one hand on his shirt, sliding it underneath to touch Peter’s skin. “All mine,” he breathes, breaking the kiss to whisper in Peter’s ear while tweaking his nipple and making Peter give an undignified squeak.   
  
“All yours,” Peter assures him, although, honestly, it wasn’t a question.   
  
“Mmm,” hums Mr. Stark. “You say the nicest things.” He sits up abruptly and considers Peter with his dark gaze while he pours himself another glass and takes a sip before saying conversationally, “I have all kinds of things planned for that body, Peter Parker.” Peter’s hips twitch, it’s beyond his control, and the jeans are putting increasingly more painful pressure on his hard-on. “But first, it’s story time. Stretch out.” And he indicates Peter should lay on the couch in front of him.    
  
Peter kind of falls over, and they figure out his legs together, so he’s tucked into the deep seat of the couch, and Mr. Stark sits on the edge and pushes his shirt up inch by inch to gently stroke his fingers over Peter’s stomach. Mr. Stark repeats, his voice husky, “It’s story time. And I’m going to listen, and you’re going to talk. You’re going to tell me who has had their hands all over my- this- body- not their names, but what they’ve done. And then you’re going to tell me what you’ve done to it, and maybe I’ll ask you to show me.”   
  
Peter shakes his head, not in denial but just- it’s too much, the way Mr. Stark is looking at him, how his hand is trailing lines of fire across Peter’s skin, the words in that voice- the thought of telling- the thought of telling Mr. Stark… He gasps, and says quickly, “Not, not many, Mr. Stark, I’ve not- I’m not-”   
  
“Virgin sacrifice?” responds Mr. Stark wryly. “My favorite, you are a pretty present. Tell me, though, because not many doesn’t mean none and I want to know.”

“I’ve, I mean, I’ve made out- kissed- at parties, some boys, some girls.”   
  
“No other men?” asks Mr. Stark, and the emphasis he puts on it makes Peter pause and nod and say, “No, just, just boys, just some girls.” Mr. Stark smiles, his hand twirling around one nipple, under Peter’s shirt, and he tweaks it and says, “Good boy. Playtime is important. What I am going to do to you, will be fun games, but it will not be play.” Peter shivers under his hands, and wonders if he should tell Mr. Stark about his- about how sensitive- but then, Mr. Stark had helped him run the tests, he knows how sensitive Peter is to stimuli. “Keep going. Kisses, and what kind of touches? Whose hands have been here before?”   
  
“Nothing, one- on my back, my stomach, his hands, he rubbed them there, and one girl, she, through the shirt, she played with my- my n-nipples, but. And one time, with him, with the guy, I rubbed, we were both so hard, and we, we rubbed them, while we were-” he gasps as Mr. Stark fingers the waistband of his jeans, trailing one finger just underneath it so slowly “-kissing, while we kissed, but I-” he blushes, to have to say it outloud like this, “-it was too much, I-” should be be revealing this? What if Mr. Stark would think- honesty, honesty- “-came just from, from kissing and rubbing and he- he laughed and said I- said I had some growing up to do.” Peter lays there panting, and Mr. Stark has hooked another finger under his waistband, but they’re still, not moving.

“MMmm,” hums Mr. Stark. “Is that all? Is that all the people you’ve let touch my absolute favorite new toy’s body, Peter Parker?”   
  
Peter nods frantically and then feel compelled to open his eyes to say, a little frantically “I didn’t- I didn’t know you- then- I didn’t know you’d, it would- that it would be yours, then. I would’ve-”   
  
“Shhh,” soothes Mr. Stark, his fingers slipping out to trace Peter’s stomach, and Peter takes the hint and relaxes into his touch again. “Playtime is important, it’s good. It’s how you learn about your body, and look, look what you’ve been able to tell me tonight. You’re so responsive, I guessed, I did, I thought things would easily be too much, exactly the way I like it, so responsive, but now I know. And you know I know.”

Peter can hear Mr. Stark sip wine, and the flush of his blush is still ringing in his ears, thinking about that “you know I know,” and what it  _ means _ .   
  
“And now for part two,” says Mr. Stark, gently. “And I think, before we start, the first thing I want to know, Peter Parker, is how many times can you come for me, in a single night, like tonight? Do you know?”

“I-I, the- I’ve never, I don’t know the upper limit,” admits Peter, blushing again. Fuck Ned, he should have- he twists, so embarassed he can’t hold still, “-I usually, I’ve gotten to 10 but it’s, it starts to hurt, and I never-”   
  
“Shhhh,” soothes Mr. Stark again, fingers trailing around Peter’s belly and chest, under the shirt. “Shhh.” He moves his hands to create swirls on Peter’s skin and Peter is on fire with that touch, helplessly twitching and moaning a little. “10 is a good number, it tells me- so much- about you, so much I was hoping to hear. I am going to have so much fun with you, with this body you’re giving me.”

Peter nods, and a tear sneaks out from under his lashes. It’s a lot, emotionally, all this honesty, but what’s worse is, that guy, and Peter doesn’t think he’s going to last any longer with Mr. Stark, is all.

“Stop thinking,” murmurs Mr. Stark, taking another sip. His voice isn’t that patient gentle tone anymore, it’s switched, and the demand in it lights up Peter’s spine. “You have to trust me, Peter, trust that I’m not an idiot kid, who doesn’t know how to appreciate you. I’ve got you. All you have to do is worry about me and what I want, and make sure I get it.”

“L-like the wine?” Stutters Peter, opening his eyes again to watch Mr Stark’s reaction.

Mr. Stark runs a finger across Peter’s lips and inhales sharply when Peter opens them slightly. “Yes,” he says, voice rough. “Just like the wine.”

Peter kisses the finger, watches Mr. Stark’s pupils widen, and then darts his tongue out to lick it. It tastes salty, like Mr. Stark smells after a day in the workshop. He licks again, more firmly, and Mr. Stark’s mouth opens on a hiss. “I liked the wine kiss,” Peter confesses, taking the finger between his teeth.

Mr. Stark vents a short laugh and says, “Well, I do seem to be in a spoiling mood tonight,” and he drains the sip left in the cup and cups the back of Peter’s head with one hand to raise him up.

The kiss is long, and hot, and very very different from every other fumbling kiss Peter has ever had with anyone not Mr. Stark. He knows what he is doing, and it does seem as if the only thing he expects from Peter is to  _ kiss him back _ .

Eventually, he sits back, and Peter falls to gasp on the couch, and Mr. Stark empties the last half-glass from the wine bottle with a chuckle. “Back to our conversation” announces Mr. Stark. “I’m excited by the thought of endless supplies of orgasms.”

“Ten,” corrects Peter, and then adds, “sir.”

“Yes, I caught that, and trust me, we will be testing that upper limit at some point-“ he points a finger at Peter, who says, easily, “Green!” And mentally files that information away for Ned, later.

Mr. Stark nods and continues, “So that’s on our list for another day. For tonight, tell me, tell me- no. No, I think,” and his hands, his clever fingers, start to unbutton Peter’s jeans, Peter can’t watch anymore, he has to close his eyes, tilt his head back, “no, I want you to show me, what you do when you text me and ask, and I so very graciously tell you yes. Eyes on mine,” he orders.

Peter’s eyes fly open and land on Mr. Stark’s face, which has a twisted grin on it. “I want,” he says simply, “and the game is, I get what I want, right, Peter Parker?”

Peter nods, biting his lip and shifting, as Mr. Stark slowly unzips his jeans, and his erection brushes the man’s knuckles. Mr. Stark whispers, “Favorite gift to unwrap this year,” and Peter tosses his head as his dick jumps.

“So show me,” Mr. Stark says, “show me what I haven’t been allowed to see.” His voice sound accusatory, like it was Peter personally denying him access.

Peter nods, flushing in shame and somehow even hotter because of it, and slides his right hand down his stomach, careful not to displace Mr, Stark’s where it rests, still gripping the zipper. He has to shift a little- these jeans are really tight- to slide his hand under Mr. Stark’s. At the first touch, he moans, because he’s so hard, it feels, it feels so good.

Mr. Stark hisses a little, at his moan, and shifts, before stilling and saying, in a rough voice, “I want to hear it, too. I like to hear it, and I get what I want, yeah?”

Peter nods frantically, slowly sliding his hand down, gripping his painfully aching cock in a familiar grip but Mr. Stark is watching and he knows- “M-Mr. Stark,” he warns, “I-I c-can’t last very long, you’re t-too, it’s-“

“Yes,” Mr. Stark says impatiently, “I know, I know,” and he leans forward, moving his hand to Peter’s thigh and squeezing, “I want that, too.”

Peter nods, and closes his eyes, and rubs, feeling the glide of skin against skin, and it doesn’t take more than a dozen strokes before he’s arching up, groaning, and Mr. Stark grabs his face and kisses him through his orgasm.

“That’s it,” croons Mr. Stark against his lips, “such a good boy-toy, so filthy, the dirty things you’ll do for me, just the way I like it,” and Peter is so turned on it extends his orgasm for one more spurt. “You put on a good show, so responsive, can’t wait to wrap my hands around you and take it from you, so easy, you’d like that, I can tell. My dirty Peter Parker,” and then he’s kissing him again, pulling the shirt he gave Peter up to keep it out of the pool of cum on Peter’s stomach, but lifting him up with his other hand. Peter has never had anyone- he’s so- it’s so much, and before he has a chance to go soft, his dick is stirring again, in his hand, and now there’s the glide of his cum between his hand and his dick, and he can’t help himself, he’s groaning and his hand is stroking, and Mr. Stark stops kissing him to grab his wrist and say, “Oh, what do we have here?” in a mocking tone of censure. “Peter, you greedy little- were you going to go again? Without permission?” Peter shakes his head, and Mr. Stark grabs his chin- he’s reminded briefly of that moment with Kevin- and says, “Excuse me? Did you just say no, I didn’t see what I saw?”

Peter bites his lip as shame floods his body, twisting it, his hand trapped around his cock at the wrist by Mr. Stark’s grip, and he splutters, “s-sorry, sir.”

There’s a pause, and then Mr. Stark says, “That’s better. Always better to apologize, I’m not displeased, just, surprised. I thought you were such a good boy, and here you are, covered in jizz, and sneaking strokes from me.”

Peter can tell that this is mock scolding, because Mr. Stark’s gaze is still smiling, holding his chin, but he decides to say, “I’m sorry,” again, only it comes out on a ridiculous whine.

“Oh, and now whining for it,” laughs Mr. Stark, delighted, the hand gripping Peter’s wrist giving a little shake. “I didn’t know you’d stoop to whining.”

Peter shifts, trying to get comfortable on the couch, and Mr. Stark laughs again and says, “No, no, stay put. It’s almost my turn.”

Peter inhales, at the thought of- of Mr. Stark’s hands-

Mr. Stark nods at him and says, “See what you would have ruined for yourself, sneaking around touching my property without permission? Don’t you want me to?”

Peter’s vision shorts out for a second, during which time he’s thankful for his voice, because he’s babbling, “Yes, please, Mr. Stark, sir, please, please, oh, touch it, touch me, yours, please.”

Mr. Stark chuckles, pulling Peter’s wrist away from the sticky mess of his cock, and saying, “And you’ll beg for me, yess, Pepper was absolutely right,” and he leans down to whisper by Peter’s temple, “you are my favorite flavor of fuck.” 

Peter grunts, his dick twitching, and Mr. Stark chuckles again before saying, “well, let’s get these absolutely slutty jeans off your ass, trouble-mine, completely unacceptable that you wore them to dinner where I could see them but not touch them.”  He slaps Peter’s hip, so Peter raises them, and slides the pants and then the boxers down to Peter’s ankles. “Kick ‘em off if you need to,” he directs Peter. Peter needs to, and that makes Mr. Stark tsk and muse, “So eager, it’s like you don’t know what I have planned for you. Lie down, flat,” he directs, one hand on Peter’s chest applying pressure. “Now the name of this game,” he says, and then interrupts himself, “oh look, self-lubing!” And running his palm through the mess on Peter’s stomach before holding it up for Peter to see, “nice feature, gotta remember that!” Peter groans, and he chuckles, “The name of this game is going to be, Beg. And we’re going to play it a lot, because it’s my absolute favorite.” 

His hand hovers over Peter’s erection, and he pauses, tilting his head to look down at Peter, who lays still, breathing shallowly, waiting. “Color?” He inquires.

Peter thinks of the name of the game and thinks of several fantasies he’s had, and then stops thinking because fuck it, “Green, so green, please Mr. Stark, Jesus, please,” and Mr. Stark has his head cocked and his hand inches from Peter’s dick and somehow Peter knows it won’t go well if he thrusts up, so he lets his mouth run, “please, oh, God, touch me, please,” he can hear the slight whine in his voice and he doesn’t care, maybe it’ll work, “green green green, please, so green, touch- touch me, please.”   
  
“Touch you how?” asks Mr. Stark, his voice not confused at all, fuck him, he knows what Peter wants, what Peter needs. “Touch you where?”   
  
“God, everywhere, you can- you can touch me anywhere, but please, please, your hand, on my- on my dick, Jesus, please, can you- can you stroke, please, can you stroke, please, Mr. Stark,” babbles Peter, tossing his head.    
  
“Good boy,” Mr. Stark tells him, and Peter can’t help his body’s response to those words, and he watches Mr. Stark note it with a raising of his eyebrows, before he continues, “You do know how to play this game. You’re a natural,” and he starts to stroke Peter’s dick, soft, like he knows how overstimulated Peter can get, how easily everything can be too much, like he learned it all just by watching him moments ago. “Oh, don’t stop,” says Mr. Stark, disappointed.    
  
“Please, shit, please,” Peter says immediately, “I need- I want- I need to feel your hand, please, stroke, please, god, it feels, it feels so good, you have, you have no idea, please, don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m- it feels- I need more- it’s, God, please.”   
  
“Eyes on mine,” says Mr. Stark, and Peter is immediately lost in the intensity that burns there, as Mr. Stark slides his hand up and down Peter’s cock, stopping once to slick his hand up again before starting back again.   
  
“Please, please,” begs Peter, gripping the sleeve on Mr. Stark’s other wrist. “Please, god, don’t- don’t stop, please, it feels- so good, you- it-” Mr. Stark’s hand flips his, holding his wrist tight, and his rhythm becomes harsher.   
  
“I think I’ll pull an orgasm out of you now,” he says, conversationally, “I think you’ve had enough of a rest, and I want one.”   
  
Peter’s hips start twitching, in time with Mr. Stark’s words or just his hand, Peter couldn’t say, but he keeps his eyes trained on Mr. Stark’s, and breathes, “Please, please Mr. Stark, please.”   
  
“Yes,” says Mr. Stark, and while it sounds dismissive, off-the-cuff, impatient, his eyes blaze. “I want it, come for me, give it to me,” he growls.

Peter has no warning before his world is glowing white. He shuts out the stimuli and shakes, thrusting up into Mr. Stark’s hand a few times, it feels so good, the release. Mr. Stark stops stroking him, just holds him, and Peter’s breathing is all over the place, unsteady. When he has his brain back, partially, he relaxes, falling to the couch, and Mr. Stark’s hand goes with him. “Good boy,” praises Mr. Stark, and Peter responds, “Ngh,” which makes Mr. Stark laugh.   
  
He lets go, and stands, saying, “Well, that’s two, and we’ve made a mess I know I’m proud of. I’ll be right back.”   
  
Peter concentrates on breathing and not shivering and not questioning any of his life choices. The couch leather sticks to his skin when he moves, so he also concentrates on not moving if he doesn’t have to. Mr. Stark returns with a wet washcloth and a towel, and wipes him down, and then lays the towel on top of him and leans over for one of those deep and breathtaking kisses. “You, Peter Parker, are absolutely my new favorite wind up toy.”   
  
Peter huffs a broken laugh, running his hands through his hair. “Th-thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I know you don’t have a lot of experience with adult scenes, so I’m going to have to take the lead here,” and that condescending tone makes Peter’s dick twitch, what is wrong with him? Mr. Stark’s gaze drops from his face at that motion and Peter could seriously die as he continues, “Normally, only teenagers hump on couches. Adults do it in bed, where it’s much more comfortable. You’ve had your hump on this couch, and it was a good one, I enjoyed it, don’t get me wrong.” Peter can’t believe that this talk is working, but Mr. Stark is definitely watching his dick and there’s no hiding the fact that it is, in fact, doing something for him. He breathes out a careful breath, air hissing between his lips, which brings Mr. Stark’s dark gaze back up to his face. “But I’m an adult, Peter, and I need- I prefer- a bed. Mine, to be specific, although I’m sure in the next coming days, we will also try out yours. Color?”   
  
“Green?” says Peter. He wasn’t aware a bed could be a boundary, wasn’t that, I mean, wasn’t beds where- what the-.   
  
“Greatness,” replies Mr. Stark, standing. “Lead the way, you know where it is.”

Peter stands, feeling suddenly so exposed, in Mr. Stark’s shirt and nothing else, and the shirt is sliding all around his shoulders. He takes a few steps towards the bedroom, and Mr. Stark is right behind him.   
  
“One second,” says Mr. Stark, sliding a hand over and around him, to undo another button from the top. “There. Much better. Better access.” He slides a hand down Peter’s side, and muses, “Such good access,” as he strokes a hand across Peter’s ass. “Later,” he says aloud, and, “wait, no, lead like this,” he says, and turns Peter around, wrapping him in his arms and saying, “Much better this way, can kiss you, and grab your ass, walk now,” and then he proceeds to do exactly that. Peter has no idea how he’s walking, he’s trying to rub up against Mr. Stark while also drag him forward- backward- towards the bed. Mr. Stark lets go of his mouth and moves his down to Peter’s exposed shoulder, where the shirt has slipped, and gnaws and sucks there as they stumble towards the bed. “Mmm, I get what I want,” murmurs Mr. Stark, tightening his grip on Peter’s ass for a second. “Lovely.”   
  
It’s forever and also only a half a second and Peter’s calves hit the bed and Mr. Stark gives him an ungentle push and he collapses down on it, panting and hard again. “I love this look on you,” Mr. Stark tells him. “Always look like this. Completely debauched, it’s amazing. Wait, are you- you’re completely ready, you could come again, already?”   
  
Peter nods, panting, “Yes, sir. I t-told you, it’s the serum.”   
  
“It’s something,” agrees Mr. Stark. “I believed you but it is something else.”   
  
Mr. Stark still has on every single stitch of clothing and Peter hadn’t noticed that before, on the couch, even his shoes, still tied. In here, in the bedroom, it’s very- it’s capturing all of Peter’s attention. He focuses on Mr. Stark’s belt buckle because that’s- that’s where he’d start.   
  
Mr. Stark says huskily, “Mmm. yes, we’ll do that, too, but later,” and Peter whips his head up to look at him. Mr. Stark grins at him and teases, “You’re not subtle, it’s great, I love it, but it’s like I can read your mind.” He kneels on the bed, one leg between Peter’s, the other outside, and pushes up the the shirt Peter is wearing. “I think, as lovely as this is, it’s a stunning visual, I’d like it gone.” Peter pops the cuff buttons in two quick motions and pulls it off over his head in one smooth one, and Mr. Stark smiles down at him. “All for me,” he says musingly, one hand trailing over Peter’s exposed chest. “All mine.” Peter nods frantically, and Mr. Stark snugs his knee up against Peter’s balls, lighting up sparks and making his dick bob and leak. “I may never get enough of touching,” Mr. Stark informs him. “It was awful, not being allowed to.”   
  
Peter nods and says, “G-go ahead, whatever you want, you, yes, sir.”   
  
“Well, not whatever I want,” says Mr. Stark, and his knee nudges just a little closer, setting off sparks and making his intent clear. “We’ll save some things for later. Work our way up to them.” Peter nods, because that also sounds good. “In the meantime… Peter, have you ever gotten a blowjob? One of those nice girls or boys you liked to play around with?”   
  
Peter shakes his head, no. “Ah,” says Mr. Stark. “Another thing that can be all mine. I am busting cherries and collecting virginities like mad tonight, I do like that, Peter Parker. Makes you special.”   
  
Peter had assumed, he’d assumed that if anyone was going to get a blowjob, it, it wouldn’t be him, but Mr. Stark slides him up the bed and says conversationally, “No hair pulling. Stay still.” And then he leans down and breathes on Peter’s dick and Peter’s head thumps on the mattress. Mr. Stark chuckles and says, “I do like the sensitivity, the responses are amazing, best toy. Best toy.”

Peter gives a wordless moan. Mr. Stark muses, “It’s a damn shame you haven’t had any experience though, I’m proud of this skill, it’s not easy, and you’re going to think, this is just what blowjobs are, and there’s something very wrong with that. Maybe I’m going to spoil you too much.”

Peter whines, “No, I’ll be good, not spoiled, I’ll be, please Mr. Stark, I’ll appreciate it, please.”

“Well, there’s that,” he says, and he’s so close his beard hairs rustle against Peter’s cockhead and Peter could feel that for decades, it feels so good. “You have been such a good, filthy, slutty toy tonight, just for me.”

Peter gasps and only barely remembers not to thrust up as Mr. Stark’s mouth descends in one smooth glide. He chokes, and gasps, and his hands claw the comforter, but he doesn’t thrust up into that silky wet furnace that surrounds his cock. Mr. Stark starts to move and Peter can tell he’s being gentle but it’s way too much in any case, and he’s gasping, “Mr.-Mr-“ within a few minutes. Mr. Stark pulls off with an incredulous laugh and says, “Already?” And Peter nods frantically, grateful for the moment to collect himself. “Jesus, kid, you are the best toy, the way you react, strokes my ego, you spoil me,” laughs Mr. Stark, his eyes twinkling in real delight. “Ok, you can take a break,” and Peter nods weakly, grateful, “but I’m coming back for that orgasm, it’s mine,” he reminds Peter. 

“Yessir, Mr. Stark,” Peter gasps. 

“Hmm, my toy’s all wound up, what to do, what to do,” teases Mr. Stark, coming to stretch out full length beside Peter. Peter is acutely aware of his entirely naked body, draped over the bed beside Mr. Stark’s well-dressed self. “Gimme a kiss while I decide,” he tells Peter, who leans over and tries to prove how appreciative he is feeling.

“God, you are unreal,” moans Mr. Stark after several minutes. “You are tailor-made all my favorite things. Okay, brace yourself or something, because I am having that orgasm, Peter.” Peter nods, blushing. “I like your responsiveness, I like how fast you get off on the things we do,” Mr. Stark tells him slowly, peppering chaste kisses on his lips. “Trust me, it’s a huge turn on, you have no idea.”    
  
Peter whispers, “Yes, sir.” He’s starting to believe it, too.   
  
“Yeah, God, that too,” laughs Mr. Stark. “Okay, down to work. Try not to- try not to move, no hair pulling, remember?” Peter responds quickly, “Yes, sir. Please.”

Mr. Stark is chuckling as he leans down and licks up the length of Peter’s dick in a slow and way-too-much slide. Peter’s entire body tenses but his hips stay firmly planted on the sheets. When he looks down, he can see Mr. Stark looking up at him, mouth wrapped around the head of his cock, and, “Fuck,” says Peter, heartfelt.   
  
“Language,” laughs Mr. Stark, and then he slips his lips past the head and Peter has no idea what he’s even doing with his tongue but it feels like sin and silk and nothing, nothing has prepared him for how good this feels. Mr. Stark wraps his hand at the base of Peter’s dick and bobs his head in time with it, tongue spinning and flicking, suction just this side of perfect, and while Peter is able to hold on for longer than the last time, he’s still a groaning, moaning, whining mess. His hips do snap up, once, as Mr. Stark changes the angle and deepens his contact, but Mr. Stark rides with the hip snap and growls and Peter literally could not stop himself if he tried, every muscle goes taut and he stops breathing, and stars appear in his vision.    
  
When he re-enters his body, it’s lax and loose, and Mr. Stark is sitting up with a cheerful smile, teasing, “Like that, Peter Parker?”   
  
“Yessir,” wheezes Peter. There’s sweat all along his skin, from fighting himself to hold still, and he can distinctly smell the scent of arousal in it.   
  
“Me too,” Mr. Stark assures him. “We’ll do that lots, that’s on the list.”   
  
“S-sorry about, about moving,” says Peter, vaguely aware that it’s probably super rude.   
  
“Yesss, we’ll have to work on that,” agrees Mr. Stark. “When I tell you not to move, I mean, do not move, Peter.” His eyes are dark and serious and Peter nods. “But you tried,” concedes Mr. Stark. “And I suspect this eagerness you have to please me is going to make you easy to train, which also pleases me.”   
  
Peter can feel another blush work its way up his neck at Mr. Stark’s open mention of Peter’s- well, his everything, the whole, the subbiness of him. Mr. Stark notes it and says, with interest, “You do know I like your submission, right Peter? That it’s part of what makes you such a perfect toy for me.” He’s petting Peter’s skin as he talks, slow, gentle swirls that do nothing to slow Peter’s libido, which at least is taking a break from constant hardness, thank God, that was killing him.    
  
“Yes, sir,” says Peter. “Mr. Stark, but, can, I want-”   
  
“What do you want, Peter Parker?” asks Mr. Stark, glancing up at his face quickly before returning to play with Peter’s skin.   
  
Peter thinks of how Mr. Stark has said it, this whole time, just said it, dropped the words in the conversation like they’re not awkward, “I- I want you to feel- I want- can I have- can I have yours? Your orgasm, too?”   
  
Mr. Stark’s hands still and he leans up to kiss Peter, saying, “So brave, for me, asking what you want. I like that, too, Peter Parker, perfect Peter Parker. Someday soon I am going to fuck that beautiful mouth, and this ass, too,” he grabs a handful roughly. “And you’ll ask for it then, too, I know you will, you’ll beg for it. But not tonight-” Peter opens his mouth to protest and Mr. Stark pops his chin shut with a tap of a finger, and continues- “tonight, yes, I’ll give you what you want, I’ll spoil you, although I really shouldn’t, you shouldn’t always get what you want, the game is not about you getting what you want, but I’ll give you what you want the way I want to give it, always. You’ll always get what you want, Peter Parker, because I have wanted to fuck you, fuck into you, Jesus, since Titan, since you followed me into space, I knew, but you’ll get it when and how I want it, because that’s the game we play. I get what I want. Color?”

Peter has no idea what, what consent does Mr. Stark, why is he- of course, that all sounded- “Green,” he breathes.   
  
“Yeah, I knew. I knew it would be, you are such a natural. Don’t get me wrong, one of these days, it will thrill me to hear yellow, because I’ll be pushing those limits and boundaries, and it will- knowing you can say it- will make this so much better, you’ll see, but for tonight, tonight we’re going to stay in this nice shallow end of the pool, and you can give me all the green you want to.”   
  
“Green,” says Peter, and it’s half a joke but half a plea. “Please, Mr. Stark, I- three times, and I want- I want you, too. I want yours, too.” He is acutely aware that Mr. Stark still has on his  _ shoes _ , right now.   
  
“But you gave me the number ten,” says Mr. Stark teasingly, kissing Peter’s neck. “I distinctly remember the number ten, it is burned into my ears, your voice saying, ‘Ten.’ Am I misremembering this and it was three?”

Peter shakes his head and says, shakily, as Mr. Stark continues to kiss and suck at Peter’s neck, his hands playing with the skin on Peter’s chest, tweaking and flicking his nipples, his leg coming up and over to rest between Peter’s legs, the rustle of fabric against bare skin so loud in Peter’s ear. “N-no, Mr. Stark, I said ten, you- it was ten.”   
  
“I don’t know, if I can hold out for ten,” admits Mr. Stark with a laugh, and thrusts once against Peter’s hip and he can feel that Mr. Stark is very definitely turned on, it’s right there, and that knowledge does things to Peter’s breathing that are positively cruel. “At least not tonight. But I am absolutely loving-” and each word is emphasized with a thrust of his hips against Peter’s- “the ridiculous ability to regroup that you have.” His hand lowers to cup Peter’s dick, and he gives a couple of gentle pulls there, and Peter is suddenly rock hard and gasping. “Yeah, that- that is definitely my favorite of your superpowers,” laughs Mr. Stark. “You go off like a firecracker but it’s not one and done, and Peter, I love firecrackers, and the fact that I can have the firecracker and the long fuck, that’s just doing things for me.”   
  
Peter lays there, naked and pliant, panting.    
  
“When someone gives you a compliment,” laughs Mr. Stark, his tone that condescending and instructive one that does things for Peter in the worst way, “you generally thank them.”   
  
“Thank you, Mr. Stark, sir,” says Peter automatically, and then he turns into Mr. Stark’s warmth and runs his fingers up the line of buttons on Mr. Stark’s shirt, eyes trained on their progress, and says, “Thank you, sir,” again, voice a little hesitant because he has so much he wants to put into these words, and then he looks up at Mr. Stark’s face, sliding his fingers under and around Mr. Stark’s collar, and whispers, “Thank you, Mr. Stark, sir,” with all the gratitude and adoration he feels naked on his face. He presses his hips to Mr. Stark’s hips, rubbing a little, leaving a small line of pre-cum against the expensive fabric, and he whispers, “Mr. Stark, thank you, sir,” again, tilting his head back and leaving his lips parted, just in case- just in case Mr. Stark feels like-   
  
“Jesus Christ,” swears Mr. Stark with feeling, and his mouth fits itself to Peter’s, tongue lewdly licking its way in, arm wrapping around Peter’s waist and pulling him so tight his breathing feels constricted. Everything feels constricted, his skin is  _ too tight _ , and he rubs as best he can against Mr. Stark, to feel the shirt, the pants, against his skin. Mr. Stark angles his head and takes the kiss deeper, it’s more- there’s more tongue, it’s like he’s fucking, but he’s- it’s his tongue, fucking into Peter’s mouth, and Peter moans, thinking of Mr. Stark’s words,  _ I have wanted to fuck you, fuck into you.  _ Mr. Stark threads his fingers through Peter’s hair and pulls, just a little, just enough that Peter has to strain to keep kissing him and his hips start snapping against Mr. Stark’s, god that feel so- he’s so- so caught, here, so-    
  
“Mine,” growls Mr. Stark into their kiss, “Mine.”   
  
-and whoa, Peter was not prepared for how that one word would change his whole world- he starts rubbing anxiously, trying to feel all the things, feel Mr. Stark, feel everything-   
  
Mr. Stark breaks the kiss to grab at Peter’s hips and guide them, guide them to thrust, hard, against him, and Peter can feel Mr. Stark’s hard-on rub against his, with the new angle, and he wants- he wants- he rubs harder, Mr. Stark’s hand sets a fast, snapping pace, rubbing them together, the fabric- the soft- it’s- “Come on, Peter,” growls Mr. Stark, “You’re mine, give me what’s mine, I want it.” And Peter looks up to see Mr. Stark  _ glaring at him _ , his eyes intent and determined and ferocious. “Oh,” moans Peter, “Oh, oh, Mr.- sir- it-” and he shakes his head, because it is literally too much, the slide of Mr. Stark’s dick against his, and those fucking pants, against his skin,  _ Jesus fuck. _   
  
“Yes, you will,” Mr. Stark tells him, “You-” and he grabs Peter’s hips in a grip so tight there may be bruises later- and thrusts in time to Peter’s- “will. Give. me. What. is mine.”   
  
Peter gasps, and comes again, stilling, embarrassment already making him dizzy as he whimpers, “Oh, God, Mr- oh God, s-sorry.”   
  
Mr. Stark kisses him, deep and lewd and long, in response, humming. He grabs Peter’s hand by the wrist and pushes it down between their bodies and hisses, “Look, look what a mess you’ve made of my nice clothes, that I put on just for your dinner tonight, Peter. Look how filthy you’ve made them, Christ, do you feel that?”   
  
Peter can feel it, and he shudders in shame, and Mr. Stark tilts his head back and kisses him and says, “My perfect dirty toy, I love all these blushes, I am going to find every single one and every single way to make Peter Parker blush for me. These are mine, too, mine for me. We’re going to play a lot of grown up games like Beg and Blush and I am never going to run out of ways to do this to you, to make you whine and squirm and blush, Christ, fuck, yes.” Peter stares up at him, wide-eyed, and Mr. Stark laughs bleakly and says, “I told you I was a monster. Pepper told you I was a monster. Starting to believe it?”   
  
Peter shakes his head in denial, “I- no, no, you’re, Mr. Stark,” and he thinks of Kevin, saying  _ tell him the truth _ , and spits out, “I l-like it, I like, this, what you- what- wanna give you-”   
  
“Oh, I know, Peter Parker,” assures Mr. Stark, tipping Peter’s head up with a knuckle under his chin to lay small kisses all over Peter’s face, his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids. “But I assure you, the things I am going to do to you, a better man wouldn’t want to. The things you want, the things you need, and the things I want, I am telling you right now, they are filthy things, filthy, dirty things, and you shouldn’t let me do them, but you will, because you’re filthy, too, I can see it.” He laughs, his fingers sliding down Peter’s body to twirl in the sticky cum soaking the front of his pants, “I can feel it. You’re a goddamn prodigy of sick sex, my filthiest fuck toy, and I love it, perfect Peter Parker, do you know that the whole world thinks you’re  _ America’s sweetheart superhero _ , and only you and I- well, and Pepper, I guess, she called it, only we know differently.” Peter’s lips are parted again, panting, and Mr. Stark reads the invitation and leans down, gently kissing him. Mr. Stark has so many different kisses, Peter wonders if he’ll ever be able to predict which one is coming.   
  
“My favorite fuck toy,” murmurs Mr. Stark, and then he pulls back and watches Peter’s eyes flutter open. “And what number are we at, now?”   
  
“F-four, sir,” stutters Peter.   
  
“Four,” agrees Mr. Stark. “Time for a short break, this is thirsty work. You stay there. Right there, on top-” and he points to the bed. “I want easy access, do you hear me?”   
  
“Yes, sir,” says Peter, wide-eyed and wondering.   
  
Mr. Stark comes back with a wine glass for him, the liquid a darker gold, and a water glass for Peter. He stands by the edge of the bed and motions for Peter to sit up, and holds the glass at an angle as Peter gulps the water, and takes sips from the glass. As Peter nears the end, he places his wine glass on the end table and slides his fingers through Peter’s hair, gripping so hard tears spring to Peter’s eyes immediately, and hold his head in place for the last few sips of water. “Ahh, good,” he croons, cruelly, taking the glass away and holding Peter’s hair in a tight fist as he twists to place the glass on the end table, Peter’s head and whole body following the motion of his fist. Peter hisses, and Mr. Stark shakes him and says, “You like it.” Peter nods, and it hurts, lord, to nod when his hair is so tightly held, but he nods anyway because he does like it. Mr. Stark laughs and says, “The things- I knew it,” and kisses him and his lips taste smoky and it was not wine in that glass. “Whisky,” whispers Mr. Stark. “Another time, another time, I’ll introduce you to whisky kisses, but you’re young yet. There’s time for whisky kisses later.” Peter nods, moaning, and Mr. Stark’s smile grows wider.   
  
“I have a thought, Peter Parker, and it’s that if you’ve never had a blowjob, maybe you’ve never gotten to try out giving one, and that’s a damn shame, your lips were made for blowjobs. I’m not ready to give you what you want yet, but I could be persuaded to let you blow me a little.”   
  
Peter nods, frantically, tears welling up because it hurts, the fist, it’s so, it’s too much, and gasps, “Please, I want to try- I don’t know how- I want- please can I taste? I just- just a little, I won’t- I don’t know how to be good but I want-” and Mr. Stark is laughing at him again. He sits on the bed, pulling Peter by the hair down, off the bed and onto the floor, between his legs, and he says, “Do you know how belts work? Think your genius engineer mind, so smart, can open my belt, work a button?” Peter nods and Mr. Stark says, “Well, it’s your first time, so I’ll let you use your hands. I do love spoiling you, and there will be so much time to train you yet.”   
  
Peter stares at the belt, waiting for Mr. Stark to- he wants to do this right, wants to do whatever Mr. Stark wants, and Mr. Stark shakes his head and then shakes Peter’s and says, “Peter, I’m giving you what you want, don’t you know what to say?”   
  
“Th-thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter whimpers, his dick suddenly and abruptly springing back to hardness. “Thank you,” he whispers, looking up at Mr. Stark. “Get to work,” chides Mr. Stark. “Belt.”   
  
Peter’s fingers slip on the cum, but he undoes the catch and slides the belt from the nearest loops and Mr. Stark hisses, “ahh, yes, that- that’s so good. What a mess you made, Peter Parker. Should make you clean it off, first, but I want that mouth wrapped around my dick, and I don’t want to wait any more. Been waiting. Been waiting far too long.” and he shakes Peter’s head with his hand.   
  
“Y-yes, Mr. Stark, sir,” stammers Peter, and then, “S-sorry.” It works, Mr. Stark pants at him, lips parted, and then he growls, “Button.”   
  
Peter undoes the button and his hands are trembling a little. He goes to touch the zipper and Mr. Stark tugs at his hair and says, “I think even you can manage the zipper with your teeth,” and shoves his face close enough that he ends up with cum on his cheek. Peter nuzzles the fabric aside with his face to expose the zipper to his teeth and Mr. Stark gasps again, “Jesus, yes,” and then holds very still as Peter slowly unzips the pants. Mr. Stark’s erection releases, heavy, and hits Peter on the face through the boxers, and it would probably be hilarious except he is painfully turned on and panting, his hands scratching at his thighs for control.   
  
“I know you don’t know what you’re doing,” Mr. Stark says, “So this time, I’m going to help, I’m going to-” and he shakes Peter’s head by the hair, “-so all you have to do is suck, Peter, and lick. Color?”   
  
“Green,” groans Peter, eyes fluttering shut.   
  
“Good boy,” murmurs Mr. Stark, and Peter’s whole body convulses a second. Mr. Stark hums, and then says conversationally, “Two taps like this,” and he taps Peter’s cheek with the index finger of his other hand, “if we need to talk, anywhere, I’ll feel them.” Peter nods, and licks his lips. “I want to hear it, Peter Parker,” warns Mr. Stark, and Peter snaps quickly, “Yes, sir, two taps.”   
  
“Good boy,” he says again, and then he pushes aside his boxers, and Peter is staring at the first erection he’s ever seen, other than his own familiar one. It looks thick, thicker than Peter’s, but not, not too much longer, and it’s flushed and there are veins that stand out in sharp relief. Peter swallows, reflexively, and tentatively opens his mouth. “Yess, Peter,” hisses Mr. Stark, “Good boy,” and then he’s pressing Peter’s lips to his cock head.    
  
Peter sucks, and Mr. Stark hisses, and then he swirls his tongue, licking up the pre-cum, and Mr. Stark moans, and presses his head down, slow and implacably, and Peter tries to suck and tries to move his tongue to lick and has no idea if it feels good to Mr. Stark as his cock fills his mouth. 

Mr. Stark hisses, “Sorry, kid, but I need you choking, right now, so keep, keep sucking, keep trying, but I need you gagging, and you just- just-” and he shoves Peter’s head down and Peter does gag, does his best to keep sucking, but is gagging and choking, and Mr. Stark pulls him up and says, “Jesus, fuck, yes, I wanted- I’ve wanted, Peter I’m going to, I’m not going to be able to, you’re just gonna have to deal with it, I want you gagging on me, that’s what I want,” and he shoves Peter back down again. 

Peter feels tears in his eyes and thinks,  _ oh shit _ because, again, Jesus, he is just horrible at this, but Mr. Stark takes what he wants anyway, pushing Peter down until he gagging and trembling, and then sliding him up, where Peter frantically sucks and licks, trying to make this good for Mr. Stark. H

is eyes are burning, the tears are leaking out, and Mr. Stark shoves him half-way down and stops and says, “Look up, Peter, look up,” in a frantic tone of voice, and when Peter looks up he whispers, “Suck,” the ‘ck’ sound emphasized in the quiet of the room, and Peter sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks and Mr. Stark groans and grabs his hair again, and shoves him back down to gag for several seconds. 

“Jesus, kid,” pants Mr. Stark, “So fucking perfect, Peter Parker, is there anything you won’t do for me, you filthy little fuck?” Peter shakes his head and moans and Mr. Stark slams his head down, impaling him and then immediately releases him and says, “Moaning, another time, just, jesus, sorry, that- are you okay?” Peter nods, licking the tip of Mr. Stark’s cock, and Mr. Stark gasps, “Goddamnit,” and pushes him back down to gag. 

The tears are streaming down Peter’s face, and he’s trying to ignore them, when one of Mr. Stark’s hands rests gently under his chin and starts wiping through them, smearing them all over Peter’s cheek and he says, “God, yes, best toy, you are wrecked, you look fucking  _ fucked _ , just, just a few more minutes, fuck, Peter, so good, keep, keep sucking, keep trying- just let me gag you, just a few more-” and Peter will kneel like this for hours, keep going for hours, if Mr. Stark will always say things in that completely undone tone of voice. Peter loves it, he soaks it up, soaks up the praise and the encouragement, his skin too tight again, acutely aware that Mr. Stark is still fully dressed, just his fly open, and Peter is completely nude, on his knees, and Mr. Stark is using his mouth to get off. 

Finally, as Peter can feel the pre-cum taste, salty, in his mouth, and he thinks maybe Mr. Stark will give him an orgasm this way, regardless of his earlier words, Mr. Stark pulls him off and growls, “Enough, enough my greedy little Peter, enough, so greedy, god, could fuck your mouth, your throat, make you gag for it, for hours, Jesus, on the list, but enough.” Peter gasps, his head held back at an awkward angle, bearing his throat. 

“Fuck,” says Mr. Stark, and pulls Peter up, releasing his hair, for a kiss. Peter stretches up into it, holding himself steady on Mr. Stark’s knees, and Mr. Stark’s hand comes up to wipe the tears off his other cheek, too.   
  
He releases Peter with a pant and they sit there, Peter stretched up, Mr. Stark hunched over, foreheads touching, for more than a moment, until Mr. Stark says, “Sloppy, sloppy work, we’ll work on it, but the enthusiasm, the enthusiasm, you sold me, I’m in, we’re doing that now and forever.” Peter is blushing, ashamed, and so turned on, and Mr. Stark kisses him chastely and asks, “How you doing? Where are you at?”   
  
Peter stares blankly at him and replies, “Four. Green? Mr. Stark?”   
  
Mr. Stark laughs and says, “Excellent shorthand. I got a little- goddamn, you felt so good, I got a little crazy, wanted to make sure- but green is good, goddamn, you’re so filthy, I’m going to spoil you like crazy, all mine.”   
  
Peter nods, that all, from what he understands, that all sounds nice, and then he thinks about his dick, pressed to his stomach and leaking precum, and he’s whining before he can think to stop himself, “Mr. Stark? Please?”   
  
Mr. Stark looks down the length of Peter’s body and chuckles. “This thing you do, it’s amazing, you really are my favorite toy.” He pulls Peter up, to stand in front of him, and wraps his fingers around Peter’s cock, pulling gently and chuckling as Peter convulses and hisses. “But I want out of my clothes now, only teenagers cum in their clothes, only fucktoys who don’t know what they’re doing, and I definitely know what I am doing, Peter Parker.” Peter is blushing at the censure but he loves the idea of Mr. Stark maybe losing some clothes. 

“As much as I’ve enjoyed the image of you naked, kneeling, servicing me, and trust me, it was a beautiful image, these clothes are ruined and it’s time to take them off.” 

He stands, in front of Peter, his body suddenly shoving Peter back a whole pace, and he says, “Cufflinks,” and holds up a sleeve. Peter figures out the mechanism, and sets down first one, and then the other on the bedside table, and then Mr. Stark murmurs, “Buttons,” and Peter’s fingers start at the top of Mr. Stark’s shirt without conscious effort. He slides it down from Mr. Stark’s body, and he presses kisses to the flesh that is suddenly revealed, and Mr. Stark hums, smugly, “Oh, I like that, Peter Parker. You can do that every time. Good boy.” Peter shudders, and lets the shirt drop to the floor. 

“Mmm, shoes, kneel,” says Mr. Stark, and Peter’s knees drop and he hits the ground, and stretches his fingers out wide before undoing the laces while Mr. Stark murmurs, “You know, I never thought to have someone use their mouth, but I think, I think in the future, I think I’d like you to unlace my shoes with that clever tongue, put it to good use. Yes, and I think you’d like it too, wouldn’t you, Peter Parker?” 

Peter’s breath stutters and he says quietly, “yes, sir,” and Mr. Stark steps out of his shoes and Peter puts them behind him on the floor. He reaches up to peel off Mr. Stark’s socks, one, and then the other, without being told, but Mr. Stark doesn’t seem to mind. Peter reaches up and tucks his fingers in the waistband of Mr. Stark’s underwear, under his pants, and Mr. Stark puts his hands on Peter’s, trapping them against his skin. Peter looks up, way up, and Mr. Stark looks down, way down, and says mildly, “What do we say when we want something?”   
  
“Please, sir,” whispers Peter, and he waits, his eyes searching Mr. Stark’s face for who-knows-what response.   
  
“Yes, you absolutely spoiled birthday boy,” answers Mr. Stark, mocking and Peter slides the pants- the pants and the boxers, down Mr. Stark’s legs to puddle on the floor. 

Mr. Stark steps out of them by stepping into Peter’s space again, and pulls him upright into a tight embrace. The kiss, when he tilts Peter’s head with his hands, is shocking and deep, as is the press of Mr. Stark’s dick against Peter’s stomach. He shivers, and Mr. Stark hums, and he knows every small reaction is being noted, filed, ready for future reference, and it’s exhilarating to know for the last however long, and for however long tonight lasts, he has the entire driving intellect of Tony Stark focused on him like a laser. Something happens during the kiss, he’s not- he can read a change, like a shiver against his skin, it passes from him to Mr. Stark and then back again, but it’s there and then it’s gone, and something is different after it passes, but he doesn’t know what.

Tony runs his hands up and down Peter’s sides, the touch soothing and possessive at the same time, and says, huskily, “You ready to come to bed? All done playing games?”

“I kinda figured you’d keep playing them in bed, sir,” says Peter honestly, because maybe that’s what changed, but it wasn’t- he didn’t ask for it, did he? How? But something has definitely changed. The air is just as charged, but it’s, it’s different, now. Less dangerous, maybe.

Tony pushes aside a lock of Peter’s hair, tucks it behind his ear, and says, “Sure, sometimes we’ll do that. And if you want, we can do that now, too, but I figured, your first time, you might just want… me.” His dark eyes are vulnerable in a way that makes Peter's heart ache, but he just stands there, waiting for Peter to make a decision.

Peter thinks about what he’s feeling right now in this moment, and then stops thinking abruptly, because he has never felt so completely on fire with ache. He nods, and says, “Yesss, yes, Tony, I do, I do want that, please."

Tony’s eyes darken just a hint when Peter says his name, and Peter is shocked by how much he can read there. “Come, lay down with me, then,” he says, twining their fingers together and tugging Peter over the small pile of discarded clothes at the edge of the bed.

Tony pulls him onto the bed, facing him, and restarts the kiss, and he’s no less demanding this way, but it’s different, it’s tender. Peter loves it, thrills to it, tries to meet and mimic Tony’s clever use of his tongue until Tony is laughing into his mouth and they open their eyes together and Tony says, “Fast study,” in a rueful tone.

Peter smiles at him and Tony puts a lazy hand above the bed and a nozzle appears and dispenses what is very obviously lube. “I’m going to,” he says, and Peter whispers, “Yes,” back, and rubs his dick alongside Tony’s in anticipation. 

“You’re so,” says Tony, and Peter nods. This is the happiest he’s ever felt, right here, as Tony slowly slides his hands over both of them. 

The angle is awkward, for both of them, side by side like this. Peter grips Tony’s shoulder, and nods his head, and Tony smiles, falling on his back smoothly. Peter swings a leg over to sit on him, and then smiles down as Tony smiles up and runs his fingers, slick with lube, over the two of them in a slow building rhythm. 

There’s no sound in the room, but the occasional moan or grunt, and the sound of Tony’s hands sliding around them, twisting, flicking the tops of both of their cocks. Peter is thrusting, just a little, unconsciously, and his lower lip is red and swollen with bite marks. 

Tony arches his back at one point, grunting, and shifts, one single thrust up, and Peter follows the thrust with his own, watching the play of muscles across Tony’s chest. 

“Tony,” he says softly, and he knows it’s the right thing, Tony’s eyes open, half-lidded, and Peter gasps, “Can I- can you-” and slides his fingers in beside Tony’s. Tony nods, and wraps his fingers around Peter’s, guiding him to the right pressure, just the right amount of slide and slick and tension. Peter nods, and grunts, and then gasps, and then he’s coming, hot and wet spurts over their hands, and Tony keeps going, and moments later gives a shout, and then he spills, too, through Peter’s fingers, into his own fingers. 

Peter has never wanted to kiss him more, and he's stared at that Iron Man poster since he was six. 

Their hands are a sticky mess, so Peter leans over the mess- not an easy balancing act- and gives Tony a kiss, and tries to put all of his emotions into it.    
  
Tony smiles into the kiss and says, “Yeah, I figured. I figured that would be better, what you needed.”   
  
Peter asks, “What you needed, too?” And holds his breath, because it’s a lot to ask. His eyes had been so vulnerable earlier, but- but Peter needs to hear it, so he waits hopefully.   
  
Tony vents a sigh against his cheek and then kisses it and says, “Yes. Perfect Peter Parker. Just what I need.”   
  
They’re a mess, but Peter loves sitting there, stroking Tony’s softening dick, no need to do anything or worry about anything, just the two of them. Tony is relaxed, with a fond smile on his face, as Peter’s fingers trace up his stomach, and run through the hair on his chest, getting lube and semen everywhere. Eventually Tony chuckles, his darkly amused chuckle again, and announces they should shower and give FRIDAY a chance to change the comforter because it is wrecked. Peter smiles down at him, and nods, and gives him another kiss. 


	7. Chapter 7

In the shower, Tony soaps him up and gives him a backrub, and he tries to return the favor, and they laugh at how good it feels, just to touch, just to be able to touch, however they want, whenever they want. Tony’s hand slips down, like he can’t help it, and he says, “Ok, gimme six?” in Peter’s ear. Peter nods, biting his lip and resting his head back on Tony’s broad shoulder. Six, when it hits, which takes a longer time, hits hard and he’s gasping under the deluge of water and Tony chuckles and says, “Sorry, I couldn’t help it, you’re right here.”

He borrows a pair of Tony’s pajamas, and the man smiles and tweaks one shoulder off-kilter to kiss the skin there and murmur, “Easy access, nice,” which makes Peter smile at him like a blazing sun. And that leads to more kisses, and more caresses, and, eventually, with a chuckle from Mr. Stark, number seven. _Easy access-_ Peter's a fan.

It’s not even midnight yet, and they have all this time, and he knows Tony feels it, too, the sudden opening up of a future. Tony is scrolling through his Starkphone, answering emails and texting people, and Peter realizes he has to update Ms. Potts, he promised, so he pads over to the couches for his discarded jeans. He comes back to Mr. Stark lounging in the bed, and Mr. Stark pats the bed beside him. Peter crawls over him and lays down, head on Mr. Stark’s stomach, and thinks about what he wants to tell Ms. Potts.   
  
_ Everything perfect _ he sends her  _ Tony says you called it _   
  
It’s not even a minute and she texts back  _ Good work. Tuck him in for me. Sleep well. _ _  
_ _  
_ “Ms. Potts says to tuck you in,” says Peter, with a smile just for Mr. Stark, as he puts the phone on the bedside table that clearly belongs to Ms. Potts.   
  
Mr. Stark raises his eyebrows and says, “Good luck with that.”

“Mr. Stark,” chides Peter, “you have to set me a good example. You’re the boyfriend of my legal guardian.”   
  
Mr. Stark laughs, “Not anymore, kid, it’s your birthday, that guilt ship has sailed.”   
  
“One more hour left,” argues Peter. “So for one more hour, guilt ship is moored and available for my use.”   
  
Mr. Stark laughs, “Not gonna work, Peter.”   
  
Peter considers all the angles still available to him. “You could spoil me with it, though,” he says, finally. “For my birthday.”   
  
Mr. Stark looks up from his phone and says, “I think I’ve spoiled you enough tonight, don’t you? Didn’t I give you every single thing you begged for?”   
  
“One more thing?” asks Peter, seriously. “One more little thing?”   
  
“Hm.” Mr. Stark is trying to hide a smile, but when he turns back to his phone, it’s there, on his lips. “Fat chance,” he muses, and he flicks his fingers but Peter knows what it looks like when someone is trying to fake like they’re really engrossed in their phone.   
  
“Come wrap me up and hold me for my first time, aftercare, first time, you stole like five of my virginities tonight, it’s the least you can do. I’ll wake you up with a sloppy but enthusiastic blowjob in the morning,” offers Peter.   
  
“That’s indecent bribery,” points out Mr. Stark.   
  
“It’s after dessert. On my birthday,” points out Peter, just in case there's any traction there. He suspects it might be a weak spot.   
  
Mr. Stark sighs, and Peter shifts because he knows he just won. Mr. Stark puts his phone on the bedside and says, “Why do I spoil you, again? Why do you always get what you want?” as he slides down to lay his head on the pillow and pulls Peter to him like a teddy bear, spooning up behind him and tucking the covers over both of them.   
  
“Because I’m perfect,” Peter tells him, more than a little chuckle in his voice.   
  
“You really are,” mumbles Mr. Stark into his hair, as FRIDAY dims the lights. Mr. Stark slides a hand down inside Peter’s pants, cupping his dick, and says, “Best toy ever,” and Peter wiggles back against his cock, limp but still a presence in the bed behind him. “Behave, trouble,” says Mr. Stark, “This is bedtime, you wanted to tuck me in, I’m tucked, so behave and let an old man get some sleep.”   
  
Peter stops wiggling and Mr. Stark kisses the back of his neck and says, “Good boy. Sleep.”   
  
Peter gives one more sigh, utterly content, and feels almost all of the tension drain out of him, here, in the dark, in Mr. Stark’s arms.

For birthdays, this one was pretty good.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Smut!
> 
> So from here on out, it's just going to be throwing them into fun situations to make more porn for us all. I've already got a chapter for Mile High done, and one where there's some Hurt/Comfort/WhompPeter action. Peter's gonna get spanked, although I have to work my way up to that, because SLOW BURN IS LIFE. What else do you want to read?
> 
> Also, please, this, like, it's Chapter 11, y'all. If you made it all the way here just to criticize me, but you haven't bothered to chat with me in the comments? Just go away, you gigantic dork.


End file.
